Comfort
by madelinesticks
Summary: Crowley annoys Dean, and Sam stays with him after. Post Season 8, mute!Castiel in the background. Sam/Crowley.


Sam wasn't sure what Crowley could be called now. He wasn't exactly a demon – he barely had the power to summon a cup of coffee, let alone the magic tricks he could manage before, and he wasn't affected by Holy water or anything like that anymore. But then, he wasn't human either. After all, he still could do a _little_ bit of magic, and was still very able when it came to messing with demonic lines – like making his phone work from anywhere.

So, Crowley was Crowley. He was… A little weird, and Sam had to admit it was _really_ freaking weird having the demon tag along these days, but that was what it was. They couldn't just kill him – he wanted to repent, didn't he? Dean didn't agree with Sam there, of course, but Sam had hit low and said that he'd eventually believed Dean about Benny.

That wasn't fair; Sam had known full well that it wasn't fair. He'd done it anyway though, and that had worked despite the little guilt he'd felt for it. So Crowley came with them, just like Castiel did. They couldn't help most of the angels, and only assisted when they got in the way. For the most part, they just started hunting again, just like normal.

Demons, crop circles, Wendigos,Hell, Sam had never really wanted to deal with them again but they had a faerie hunt. And Crowley was helpful, just as helpful as Castiel with the knowledge he had. Castiel didn't quite appreciate that, judging the way he glared at Crowley at any available opportunity, but then, it wasn't like Castiel could bite back sarcastically anymore.

Sam thought it could be both the loss of his Grace, given that Castiel's very essence was as a Seraph and thus his voice was part of his everything, as well as the slit in his throat. He'd felt bad, especially given how lost Castiel seemed sometimes without it, but it wasn't like they could fix it. Metatron was up in the skies, and they had no real way to force him down.

They got two motel rooms, these days. Crowley and Sam shared, and so did Castiel and Dean. Mostly because Castiel had point-blank refused to share a room with Crowley, and Sam was happier to do it than Dean was. It wasn't too much of an issue – Sam liked Crowley well enough when the demon wasn't trying to kill him and Dean. He was clever, and he knew a lot. For the first time in a long while, Sam could talk academics.

Crowley had a brilliant grasp of law too, and made Sam almost yearn for the days he was in school again. He sighed a little to himself, shifting on his bed. It was far too late for that.

"Shut the fuck up." Sam looked up from his laptop to see Dean throw Crowley against the wall. "Don't you ever talk about our dad again!"

"Oh, calm down, pretty boy, I didn't do the torture myself and _you_ asked-" Dean grabbed at Crowley's throat, and the demon choked, his eyes going a little wide as he tried to struggle out of the larger man's hold.

"Dean!" Sam grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back so Crowley dropped to the floor. The demon (ex-demon? Part-demon? Who fucking knew?) took in wheezing breaths, his shoulders shaking. "What the Hell, man? He's on our side now, will you quit trying to gank him?"

"How do we _know_ he's on our side?" Dean growled.

"Gee, man, it's not like I pumped him full of my blood or anything." Sam muttered, tone dripping with sarcasm. Dean faltered a little and stopped trying to pull away from Sam's hold.

"Sorry." Dean muttered. "But look, Leprechaun-"

"I'm Scottish." Crowley said shortly, glaring daggers at Dean from where he sat on the ground.

"Don't fucking talk about my dad." Dean hissed.

"Don't. Ask. Then." Crowley bit right back, lip curled. Sam sighed as he dropped his brother, and watched him stalk off with Castiel following. Castiel would calm him down, silently or not. Sam wondered if there'd be any merit in learning a sign language.

Crowley pulled himself off the floor, shaking himself off and wiping dust from the carpet off his jacket. "You shouldn't provoke him." Sam advised.

"He asked what happened in Hell to John Winchester and I answered. He didn't like the answer and he blamed me." Crowley muttered bitterly. He took a step forwards, glancing up at Sam. "He's bloody stupid, isn't he?" Sam snorted.

"Sometimes." Crowley gave a short sound of frustration, fussing with the pocket on his jacket. He was so _adorable_, sometimes. The thought came unbidden, and it made something in Sam jolt a little. It was true though – Crowley had a petulant tendency that made him seem sweet and completely harmless. Kissable, even.

Sam was leaning down before he could let himself think about it too much, and Crowley gave a soft, surprised sound against his mouth as Sam kissed him. Crowley deepened it almost immediately, grabbing hard at Sam's shoulders and pulling him closer. When Sam drew back for air, Crowley stared at him. "Well, boy, you don't mess around, huh?"

Sam gave a half-nervous laugh, and Crowley grinned. "C'mere again, would you? You're too tall, bastard." Sam laughed for real at that, and he shifted down again obediently.


End file.
